The Security Expert
by The Third Marauder
Summary: The visiting agent to the NY FBI Major Thefts Unit is not what they had expected. Or, in which Peter decides to never be forced into vacation, again, and Neal and Mozzie carry out a series of home break-ins.
1. Saturday

**Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA and Jeff Eastin. Inspiration and elements of the story came from Jedi Sapphire. That said, all the character from the Major Thefts Unit belong to me. I hope you enjoy them. ****  
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* * *

_Saturday morning, the FBI Major Thefts Unit_

"Maybe we should have arranged transportation from LaGuardia," Val bit her lip. "What if he got lost?"

Frank rolled his eyes and explained, for the forty-seventh time, "He grew up in the city. He's probably just running a bit late –New York traffic is always unpredictable."

"What do you think he'll be like?" One of the probies asked, excitedly.

"The security expert?" Frank clarified. He then said dryly, "He's from Chicago, not another planet, Tim."

There was laughter, and Tim was flushed, so Frank had pity on him. "He's supposed to be a clever thinker and an excellent agent. And you all know how much Agent Bancroft hates complimenting others."

That provoked smiles from the group who were all intimately familiar with Agent Bancroft's grim personality and high standards.

"There!" Jo said, pointing. A suited man had exited the elevator and was looking around, as if lost.

"You think that's him? He looks a little too happy to be an FBI agent," Frank said wryly, bringing about more smiles from his team. "Jo, you should probably go and show him in."

On his word, the blond agent went to the door. Frank took the opportunity to examine the visiting agent. He did look far too pleased about being inside an FBI Office, but what really struck the agent was the man's age. He was young, extremely so for one as renowned as he, and Frank had to wonder how he could have possibly done as much as he had in such a short career.

They reentered, and Frank could hear Jo saying, "We hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the office."

"Not at all. I wasn't expecting to be well received-"

"We've been anticipating your arrival since we were told you were coming," Frank interrupted, stepping forward, and sticking out his hand. "You must be Agent Bateman."

"Oh." There was a moment's pause, but then Agent Bateman was shaking his hand, saying warmly, "Well, then, I suppose I must be."

Something struck Frank as odd about that speech, but he shrugged it off. "I'm Frank Silvers, Special Agent in Charge of the major thefts unit."

"A pleasure." Agent Bateman said, bowing his head in greeting.

"There'll be time for individual introductions later, but, team, this is Agent Lucas Bateman that we have all heard so much about."

"Please, call me Lucas," he said, flashing a line of white teeth.

They've been looking forward to your lessons since Bancroft confirmed you were coming," Frank confided in the visitor.

"Oh." Bateman repeated. There was another pause. "I don't suppose you could tell me which lessons exactly you wanted me to cover. They forgot to tell me when they sent me over."

Frank frowned. Agent Bancroft had been full of praise when he had spoken of Bateman's skill as a tactician and strategist. Agent Bancroft would not have recommended an idiot.

"From what I understand you were coming to teach our group about home security," he said cautiously. "That's what Agent Bancroft said, at any rate."

"Right," Bateman beamed. "And Agent Bancroft is never wrong."

"You're sure?" Frank said doubtfully. "You seem… inexperienced… for a security expert."

"Impossible. I have the experience of ten security experts. Probably more. How many home break ins does one need to work to be considered an expert?"

"It's not so much as there's an exact number as a general ability and skill," Frank answered, bewildered by the vein of conversation.

"I can guarantee that I have that in abundance. Let's start?"

"We thought you might want some time to settle in after your flight, become familiar with the office. The schedule has your first class in the afternoon."

"Oh." Bateman said, once more. "I don't suppose you might have an extra copy of my itinerary. I… lost it."

"You lost it?"

"Yes. I lost it. FBI Agents lose things. I know FBI agents who have lost things far more important than itineraries. Like cars."

"Cars," Frank repeated faintly. "I see."

"His suspect used it as the get-away vehicle. Rather embarrassing for him, to be sure, but it was returned. Eventually." He sounded a little too amused for this to have not been a personal story, and Frank wondered how the agent could relate it so nonchalantly.

There was silence, until finally, Frank blurted, "Would you like one of us to show you to your office so you can relax until training starts?"

"The first session starts at one?" Bateman inquired. At Frank's nod, he continued, a little enthusiastically, "Then there's no time to waste. I have many lessons to plan. I'll see you at one."

With that last odd speech, he took his leave.

Frank glanced to see Jo and Roger staring after Bateman, wide-eyed. They turned to him, inquisitively. Frank shrugged, offering, "Maybe it _is_ a Chicago thing?"

* * *

_Four days earlier, NY White Collar Office_

"Anyway, I'm thinking we should try approaching it from—" Neal was saying as he and Peter exited the elevator, when, suddenly:

"Surprise!"

Peter looked up in astonishment to find himself surrounded by Elizabeth, Diana, Jones, and the rest of the white collar team. Elizabeth stepped forward holding a birthday cake complete with lit candles. "Happy Birthday, hon."

"Thanks, hon," he smiled, giving her a light peck on the lips. "This is unexpected."

"It was Neal's idea," Diana said, looking supremely amused.

He spun to face his CI, who was grinning in that annoying smug fashion of his. "I know your birthday's technically tomorrow, but I figured we could start a day early. Now," he announced, clapping his hands together, "cut that thing so we can start with the presents! I happen to know that you are going to love mine."

He did. A lifetime guarantee of Yankees tickets for services rendered, and Peter almost did not _want_ to stop and wonder how Neal had managed to pull that off.

Then, El thrust an envelope into his hands, and all thoughts of possible illegal activity by his CI vanished. He emptied it to find her planner, turned to that week, and the next seven days completely blank. Raising his eyes to his wife in confusion, she explained: "I've cleared my schedule for the next week. We're going to have some us time."

Peter almost got caught up in the excitement, until he remembered, "Hon, that's very sweet, but I have to—"

"Nothing. I cleared it with Reece."

"That's right," the wizened agent confirmed. "Call it a forced vacation, Peter."

"Sir! I appreciate the thought, but I can't accept this. Diana and Jones are off to that conference in two days, and there's so much work to do here, and—"

"It really shouldn't be this difficult," Hughes said wryly to no one in particular, "to convince a man to spend time with a woman as lovely as Elizabeth."

"It's Peter, Reece," Elizabeth smiled, slipping her hand into his fondly. "He's a workaholic. I don't think he's capable of spending a week without anything to do."

Peter flushed. "It's just so dull!" He whined, turning redder as he realized how childish he sounded.

"Be that as it may, Peter, I will fire you if I see you in these offices before next Tuesday."

"And if I'm bored?"

"You can always," a voice spoke up, and all three of them looked to find that Agent Bancroft had joined the party, "go help out the Major Thefts Unit. I'm sure they would appreciate your experience." Both Peter and Reece looked appalled. White Collar and Major Thefts had always had a bit of a rivalry, the former considering the latter to be the domain of brawn-over-brain types, and the latter considering the former to be made up of stuck-up paper pushers.

"There you go, Peter," Neal joined in. "No White Collar for you."

Peter pouted playfully, but did not push the point. When he and Elizabeth, at last, were leaving, he heard Jones' mutter: "How long do you think Peter will last?", Neal's responding laugh, "I give him four days before he's heading over to Major Thefts begging for work.", and Diane's contribution, "I think the more interesting question is how long will _Hughes_ last when it's just him and Neal working cases together?"

Then the elevator doors closed, and he forced those horrifying thoughts out of his head. Elizabeth didn't deserve to have his attention divided. That did not, however, keep the expression of amusement off his face as he considered that after two days alone with Neal, Reece would be unlikely to ever spring something like this on Peter again, and that was punishment enough.

* * *

_Some time later, a Midtown coffee shop_

Lucy looked up as the bell at the door signaled the arrival of a new customer. One of those suit-wearing businessmen who was perpetually on the phone, she supposed.

"I'm telling you," he was saying into the mouthpiece, "they're a strange bunch. I got into the office, and suddenly everyone's calling me Agent Bateman."

Her head jerked up once more. _Agent_? She gave him another glance. Did that mean FBI? Or CIA?

The person on the other line must have finished talking, because the suited man was speaking again. "Believe you me, I am well aware of the laws against impersonation. But, what if Hughes had planned it this way? We both know I don't have the best track record working with other departments."

He was grimacing at whatever turn the conversation had taken. "No. I wasn't thinking of Rice." A pause. "Or Ruiz." A longer pause, and his tone had become very dry. "I don't think I'm capable of forgetting that trigger-happy son-of-a-bitch, but thanks for the reminder."

His friend must have lightened the tone because he let out a short laugh. "So, they want me to give lessons on home security, and I'm thinking they should be," there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and Lucy suddenly felt wary, "hands-on."

The man made eye contact with her, ordering, "An Italian Roast Espresso, please." And then he was rolling his eyes at the phone, "No, not you. Anyway, how would you feel about misdirecting a bunch of Federal Age—" he cut off, probably interrupted by his fellow conversant.

When he finally responded, the twinkle had transformed into a full expression, complete with an impish smile, "Oh, yes. Completely government sanctioned."

He laughed again, as he and Lucy traded coffee cup and money. The last thing she heard as he was leaving was, "Trust me. Easy is the last thing I intend to make this. I've been bored out of my mind these past days."

* * *

_Saturday late morning, Burke Townhouse_

"Hon! I'm home!" Peter announced as he came through the front door. Satchmo padded forward, and Peter took a moment to scratch behind the dog's ears.

"You're awfully chipper this morning, hon," Elizabeth said as she left the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Your errands must have gone well."

"A man can't simply be happy to see his beautiful wife?" Peter asked, pulling her into his arms, and staring into her lovely blue eyes.

"Hmm. Your errands must have gone extremely well," Elizabeth murmured, blinking demurely up at him, and biting her lip in that way she knew drove him crazy.

"If you continue like this, I might just have to cancel my plans for the rest of the day," he said hoarsely, leaning down to give her a kiss.

She grinned, and leaning back and, crossing her arms. "Plans?"

"Yes," he flirted, tightening his embrace. "A bunch of my old college friends are in town. They wanted to grab lunch and spend the afternoon together."

"You haven't seen your college friends in years!"

"And I highly doubt a couple more years will make much of a difference," he said throatily.

She slipped out of his hug, and surveyed him sternly. "Peter Burke. You will go out this afternoon and have a fun day of college-aged debauchery and craziness, and you will not come back before dinner. Do you understand me?"

Peter watched her, entertained, and bit back a smile as he responded in the affirmative. "I love it when you're assertive."

She smiled, and then began giggling.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing. I'm just wondering how Reece and Neal are getting along. I can't imagine Neal is as obedient as you are."

Peter chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure Reece has Neal doing something suitable." He paused, and adopted a slightly menacing tone, "Yes, I expect Neal is thoroughly enjoying his situation."

* * *

_Saturday afternoon, FBI Major Thefts Unit_

"Many consider home break-ins to be inelegant and mundane," Bateman began, standing at the front of the conference room, hands clasped behind his back. "Many consider home jobs to be under the domain of fools, amateurs, and blue collar criminals."

"Isn't that just something the snobs over in white collar say, sir?" Tim interrupted.

"If this is a sentiment shared by white collar" a flicker of disapproval vanished almost before it appeared "snobs, it does not stop them from being required by their mentors to learn the skills necessary to work one."

He scowled slightly, as if recalling some displeasing memory associated with those words. Frank cleared his throat, and Bateman, resuming his mien of light cheerfulness, continued:

"The goal of these next few days is to give you a sense of how to approach home stake outs, although many of these skills can be applied more generally. I haven't had time to prepare some of the more practical aspects of these sessions, so we will begin with this." He nodded at the person controlling the flat screen, and a penthouse floor plan appeared on the screen.

"Meghan," he said, shooting a charming smile at the secretary, "was kind enough to put together a slideshow of some of the more expensive residences in the city. As she can attest, this is the first time I am seeing these layouts."

The brunette nodded eagerly.

"So," he said, surveying his audience, a glint in his eye, "who here would like to see if they can identify more entrance points and escape routes than I can?"

"Don't we need to know the security system each apartment has in place, first?" Jo asked, skepticism rampant in her tone.

"Agent—"

"Johanna Pierce, sir."

"Agent Pierce," Bateman acknowledged. "Lesson number one. Perfect security is a myth. A good thief can circumvent any security system the building has in place, so never overlook a potential entrance or exit."

"You keep saying entrance and exit. Aren't the number of possible entrances and exits the same?"

"Name?" Bateman asked.

"Roger North," Roger replied, a little condescendingly. He had good reason for his arrogance. Roger had been with the FBI almost as long as Frank had, and probably a good fifteen years longer than Bateman.

Bateman must have picked up on the undertone, because he took his time to assess the older agent. Finally, "Lesson number two. There will almost always be a few access points that are only approachable from one side or the other. Find them, because you can be sure your thief will know and use them."

Roger still looked doubtful. Noticing that, Bateman announced with a slight smirk, "And it looks like we have our volunteer. Agent North, if you would be so kind."

While Roger evaluated the penthouse plans, Frank sidled over to Bateman. "You're sure you want Roger? It might be better if you used one of the greener agents?"

"That won't be necessary," Bateman winked. He broke into an unnervingly innocuous smile. "I don't like home break ins. That doesn't mean I'm incompetent at working one."

Hours later, and Frank couldn't help but be impressed. Bateman's system might be unorthodox, and there was no questioning that the agent was strange, but his ability to identify weaknesses, flaws in security that Frank would never have even considered, was extraordinary.

Even if it often met with protested incredulity.

"You can't count the roof!"

"Why not?" Bateman asked.

"Because it would be impossible to get down. You'd be stuck, fifty stories from the ground!"

"What if he base jumped?"

His suggestion met with silence. Until, "That's the most absurd thing I have ever heard."

"Are you saying it's not possible?"

Another disbelieving pause. "Ok, theoretically, maybe. But no thief would ever do it," somebody muttered resentfully.

"Lesson number six: never think you know how far a thief is willing to go. They got into this game because they like testing boundaries. Do you really think something as common as the impossible would deter them?"

"Fine. But nobody would be so stupid as to—"

Bateman interrupted, though his tone was incredibly patient. "Ocean's 13. How did Toulour escape after stealing from Linus and Bobby?"

"That's a movie! You can't reference that."

"Lesson number seven. Imagination is your most powerful tool. If you can think of it, so can they." Bateman sighed at the expressions of distrust. "2004 in Denmark, two cons snuck into the Amelienberg Palace. They were found out, but got away. It is theorized, although none know for certain, that they escaped by base jumping from the palace gate house."

Several of the team's mouths rounded in embarrassment.

"Ok!" Frank cut in, "It's been a good day; you've all had a lot to think about, and I am certain Agent Bateman will give you more to ponder tomorrow. But it's late, it's a Saturday night, and I am sure you all have places you would rather be, so get out of here."

His team filed out slowly, many stopping to have words with Bateman. When the room finally emptied out, Frank asked the visiting agent politely, "Do you need help getting to your hotel?"

"No, I'll manage."

"Excellent. Have a good evening, then," Frank moved toward his office.

"Are you not leaving, too?" Bateman inquired, and Frank reluctantly turned back to answer.

"No, I have a couple cases that came in this morning that I wanted to page through."

"Want some help?" Frank raised an eyebrow, and Bateman shrugged, "I'd just be bored sitting in my room."

Which was as fair an argument as he had ever heard, so he invited Bateman into the office. Frank was given no reason to regret his decision. Bateman was intelligent. Extremely so, and his insights were proving invaluable. So, when Frank opened the last case file, he was feeling optimistic. "Interesting," he commented paging through. "Somebody's Monet's gone missing. They want to recover it, but if not, they'll file for insurance."

Bateman perked up. "Mind if I take a look?" Bateman's eyes roamed over the opened file, until he broke into a grimace. "It's a forgery."

Frank was taken aback. "What?"

"The Monet. It's a forgery. And it's not even a good one." He sounded disgusted. "My guess is that the family is in some kind of debt and needs money."

"It's a forgery?" He repeated.

"Of course," Bateman said impatiently. "Look at the thickness of the paint strokes. And the blends of blue and green, here. Monet would have never been so sloppy. And the signature in the corner! The M is completely wrong. Not to mention—"

Bateman broke off, suddenly, noticing Frank's staring. His face schooled back into a warm expression so quickly that Frank thought he must have imagined the brief panic that had crossed the younger agent's face. "As you can tell, I have a fondness for Monet. He's one of my favorites."

"I see," Frank said, not able to entirely hide the hint of suspicion.

The dark-haired visitor stood to leave, and this was the most uncomfortable Frank had thought he had ever seen the man who seemed to be able to adapt to most things he had thrown at him. "I should get going. I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Silvers."

"Good night, Agent Bateman," Frank said, after a moment. A strange wariness had settled over him, and as Bateman exited the offices, Frank's senses were prickling.

* * *

_Saturday night, Silvers Residence_

"So you _don't_ like him?" His wife clarified, as she dabbed her mouth lightly with a napkin.

"I don't _not_ like him," Frank objected immediately. "He's remarkably able. He reads security faster than I have seen anybody else, except, perhaps, some criminals I have interrogated. That would make him a valuable agent in any major thefts unit. But he can also identify forgeries, and _that_ is strange."

Maria smiled indulgently. "I'm sure some agents have diverse abilities. Is he skilled?"

"Skilled might be an understatement. He put his fork down beside his plate. "He identified a forged Monet after a one minute examination. And it wasn't as if he had a copy of the original to compare it, too. He took one look and was able to come up with three, probably more, inconsistencies. _And_ he did this without tools, just by looking at a picture of the damned thing."

"Maybe he is very familiar with Monet?" She suggested, but Frank shook his head.

"Trained authenticators could not do what I saw him do. But that's not the problem. Agent Bancroft described Bateman as a security expert. _Security_. I'm not saying that he's not good at building security, but his passion and expertise are in forging."

"He could have changed is preferences?"

"No. Not like this. Changed preference does not turn someone into such an expert."

"So, then, what's the reason—"

"I don't know," Frank admitted. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"What are you going to do?" Maria asked nervously.

"Agent Bancroft was planning to stop by tomorrow," Frank said slowly. "He and Bateman know each other. Perhaps he'll be able to explain what's going on."

The decision made, he began eating again.

_To Be Continued..._

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**Author's Note**

**White Collar is one of my favorite TV shows, and I am especially fond of the episodes in which Neal and Peter are forced to work with other members of the FBI. So fond, in fact, that I decided to create my own. But, seriously, these characters are a delight to play with, and I hope you think my representations of them are accurate. **

**Please review. I appreciate all comments, criticisms, and concerns intended to improve my writing.  
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**Stay tuned for the next chapter!  
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**Cheers,  
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**The Third Marauder  
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	2. Sunday

**Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA and Jeff Eastin. Inspiration and elements of the story came from Jedi Sapphire. That said, all the character from the Major Thefts Unit belong to me. I hope you enjoy them. **

**A/N:** Many thanks to all of my reviewers from the previous chapter. I appreciate your support and comments and hope you enjoy this next segment. **  
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_Sunday night, Silvers Residence_

Upon seeing the caller ID, Frank stepped into another room so that his wife wouldn't hear. "Anything?" he asked, after accepting the call.

"Nothing, sir," the voice on the other end replied. "He took a nice stroll around the village after the probies took him for dinner. He's back in his hotel room, now, and there are no signs of stirring."

Frank asked hopefully, "You're _sure_ he didn't notice you following him, Roger?"

"Negative, sir. He didn't change his pace during the entire evening, and there were no signs of nervousness or anxiety."

The chief agent of the major thefts division sighed. "All right. Thanks, Roger. I appreciate it. You can head home, now."

"Yes." A pause. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking… _why_ am I tailing Agent Bateman."

"My gut is telling me that there's something off. He's hiding something."

"But Agent Bancroft didn't say anything," Roger pointed out.

"No," Frank said slowly. "No, he didn't, but he definitely knows something is wrong. I can't believe that that encounter was supposed to be normal." Thoughtful silence. "I'm willing to trust Bancroft's judgment for now, but I want an eye kept on him while he's with my people. Will you—"

"He won't leave my sight, tomorrow," Agent North vowed.

"Good man," Frank affirmed. "I'll see you in the morning, Roger?"

"Yes, sir. And pass along my regards to the wife."

"Will do."

Frank clicked the phone shut, and returned to his bedroom.

* * *

_Barely an hour before, a street in the West Village_

"I _can't_," a suited man was stressing into his phone. "They have a tail on me."

Whatever the other end of the phone was saying halted the man. "Just because I'm with the FBI doesn't mean I can't spot someone following me everywhere I go!" His voice rose at the last words, and, as if remembering where he was, he peered around down the street to make sure he wasn't overheard. He lowered it as he continued, "Anyway, the one they've put on me is good. I went for dinner with the probies and _they_ never realized he was there!"

The man began walking again, every few moments glancing surreptitiously behind him to see if his follower was still there.

"I don't know." The man was sarcastic. "Maybe the meeting with Bancroft made him suspicious. Maybe working with those blue collar, criminal _idiots_ has robbed him of any form of common sense. Does it matter?"

The man's next answer was flat. "If he thought I was an imposter, he would have arrested me instead of having one of his agents leech onto me."

He was shaking his head. "I don't _have_ to keep it up forever. Agent 'Bateman'," he emphasized the name, "is on a flight back to Chicago tomorrow night. It's just one more day, and then I'm back in White Collar like nothing happened."

Blue eyes rolled. "No. I'm not overcompensating for a severe case of boredom. And it's _not_ impulsiveness. When have you ever known me to be reckless?" A beat. "Don't answer that. Just stop arguing and stick to the plan."

A pause, and scoffing, "Oh _please._ Don't act the white collar criminal on me. I know you've pulled plenty of home jobs in your time—hold on, I'm getting another call—It's Elizabeth." The man's voice held a note of surprise that quickly turned into exasperation at the person on the other side. "No, I'm not going to say _hi_ for you. Yes, I know it's late. Thank you for the update. You know how I depend on you to be my eyes and ears to the outside world. Yes, well, I _would_ be at home, wouldn't I, if _I didn't have a tail on me_!"

Then the man was appeasing, "Sorry. You're right. That was uncalled for."

The man turned onto a main road and stuck a hand out to hail a cab. "I'm going to head to the hotel. I'll head back as soon my shadow decides to call it a night."

He opened the door to the cab that pulled up. "He won't sit the night. He doesn't have the gear for that. And if he does, I'll find a way to slip him. You just focus on getting those apartments ready for tomorrow."

With that, the suited man slid into the cab and was off.

* * *

_Six hours earlier, FBI Major Thefts Unit_

Bateman spent the morning session finishing the security assessments of the floor plan power point from the night before. Though his evaluations were no less imaginative than the night before, Frank's team had learned their lessons, and were listening instead of arguing.

For the most part.

"Oh, come on," one of the probies was scoffing as soon as the last slide came up. "People don't _actually_ use the sewers for escape routes. Not in real life."

"He couldn't even get to it, anyway," somebody added. "He'd be ten stories off the ground. And unless you think he would jump out the window, somehow use the shop awning to break his fall—"

"Excellent. You're _finally_ starting to think like a proper criminal," Bateman said cheerfully.

The rest of the team looked at him disbelievingly.

"You're _insane._ Thieves don't _do_ things like that!"

Bateman sniffed disdainfully. "Yes, well, your division has clearly had the misfortune of only dealing with uncreative _louts._ But if you ever have the opportunity to go up against a truly masterful robber, then expect things like this."

With that he announced: "All right. Lunch break. We'll reconvene in an hour to discuss which of the entrance and exit points we have identified for each building you should focus surveillance on."

Frank's team trailed out of the room, their conversation abuzz with the morning's lesson.

"You're really making an impact on them," Frank told Bateman once the last agent had left. "I heard a couple of them plotting ways to keep you here."

"I'll keep an eye out for kidnapping ploys," Bateman commented lightly, eyes twinkling.

"The window to awning to sewer trick," Frank mentioned, as the two slowly started making their way back to his office for lunch. "Isn't that how Neal Caffrey escaped from that judge's office a couple years back?"

The visiting agent grinned. "You should take your examples from the best. And he _is_ considered by many to be _world-class_."

"You sound like you admire him," Frank's tone was surprised. FBI Agents didn't often praise their enemies.

"I always appreciate elegant plans," Bateman said knowingly, and Frank had the strangest feeling he was being deflected.

He pushed the door to his office, only to find Bancroft sitting in one of his chairs. The older agent stood at Frank's entrance.

"Agent Silvers. I was wondering if you had—" he broke off upon seeing Bateman. "_You?!_ What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was specifically sent to Major Thefts, sir."

"A good thing, too," Frank inputted. "His lessons have been most informative, and I know the agents are looking forward to the practical sessions tomorrow. Agent Bateman has proven himself quite the expert."

Bancrofts eyes bugged out. "Bateman? _Lucas_ Bateman?"

"I have been told that is my name, sir." Bateman bowed his head slightly, and he looked extremely nervous for all the cheekiness in his response.

Bancrof looked bewildered for a long moment, until finally, he spoke slowly, "Yes. Of course. I apologize, Lucas," he drew out the name, as if unsure of himself, "I didn't recognize you. You've changed since we last saw each other."

"Yes," Bateman replied, and though his laugh seemed forced, his expression had cartwheeled from anxiety to relief to its customary self-confidence, "I decided the beard wasn't a good look for me."

"Indeed," Bancroft said. His words were coming out hesitantly, raising warning flags in Frank, "I would agree." A pause, and the director glanced at Frank from the corner of his eye, "I don't mean to be so surprised. It completely slipped my mind that you were going to be here. I wasn't expecting you till next week, otherwise I would have stopped by sooner. I hope your time here isn't taking you away from," another side glance to Frank, "any _other_ responsibilities you have."

"No, I am not expected anywhere until Tuesday, sir. I doubt anyone would be missing me."

"Good. I would hate for your office to be looking for you." Frank had the strangest sense that there was something else behind those words.

"I don't see that happening," Bateman confirmed meaningfully, and Bancroft nodded.

"Well. I'm happy to get to see you again," an uncomfortable pause, "_Lucas_. The agents are very lucky to be able to learn from you." Bancroft cleared his throat. "I hope you will stop by my office sometime before you head back to Chicago. I would not want to miss the opportunity to," his eyes flickered again to Frank, "_catch up_ with you."

"It would be a pleasure," Bateman said formally, shaking the chief agent's hand.

Bancroft turned to Frank, "I will talk to you later, Silvers. I, uh, forgot I had another appointment." With that, Bancroft swept out of the office.

There was a escaped breath from Bateman, as if he was holding it, but when the Chicago Agent turned to Frank, there wasn't any indication of unease or awkwardness. "Lunch?" he proposed cheerfully.

The bewildering prickling that had plagued Frank since Bateman's suspicious arrival intensified.

* * *

_Two days earlier, NY White Collar Office_

"It was well done," Neal said warmly, pushing open the glass doors to the bullpen. "Especially for your first field operation."

Matthew Hale, the probationary agent assigned to Neal for the day, beamed. The smile fell off his face, though, when he saw what was waiting for them on the balcony of the pen. There was a two finger point and summon directed at Neal, before Agent Hughes disappeared back into his office.

"He doesn't look happy," Hale commented, looking a little nervous.

Privately, Neal agreed with the assessment. Not wanting to feed the new agent's discomfort, however, he winked, "He's probably just having a difficult time with the crossword. He's a bit obsessive about them."

Neal Caffrey sauntered into the Special Agent in Charge's office to find the man sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, and eyes fixed on the conman.

"I just had an interesting phone call with the lieutenant of the thirty first precinct. He told me that you and Hale are responsible for the arrest of Thornton."

Neal had always been good at reading people. It was an essential skill to excel as a conman.

Agent Hughes was most definitely _not_ happy.

"It's quite exceptional," the suit continued, in a tone suggesting that it really wasn't, "considering I had given strict instructions that this was to be a surveillance exercise only, and that you and Hale _were not to leave the van_."

"Amazing the things you can accomplish from inside the van, isn't it?" Neal said offhandedly, hoping that Hughes had only received a cursory report.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." Hughes nodded agreeably. "Would you like to tell me how you did it? While you're at it, you might also explain how you violated four national laws and caused a bank hold up from _inside _a van."

Ah. So he had heard everything. Well, then.

"_Technically_," the conman offered, "we didn't actually _break_ any laws—"

"Caffrey!" Hughes exploded.

Neal stepped back, alarmed. "All right! We might have, sort of, left the van."

"Really?" Hughes' tone was laced with sarcasm. "And I suppose Agent Hale suggested that you enter the building to confront Thornton, did he?"

Neal really thought that the agent was over reacting.

So he shrugged, "There might have been a little bit of persuasion." At the glare, he quickly amended, "A lot. A lot of persuasion."

Hughes' glare intensified, and that, more than anything incensed Neal into offering a proper defense. "Listen. We heard Thornton talk about his plan to shift the money today. You know that the FBI hardly _ever_ recovers money once it's sent offshore. If we had waited to make the arrest, that money would have been gone."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't have arrested him." Hughes said calmly. "But storming into the bank to accuse the bank _manager_ of fraud without any sort of proper backup… You're lucky all he did was lock the building down. If he'd had a gun, it could easily have turned into a hostage situation."

Neal looked properly abashed.

"I'm not disagreeing with your result, Caffrey, only with the method. Burke might be able to adapt to your reckless impulsiveness, but I can't have someone in the field that puts his teammates in danger on a whim."

Neal grimaced. "I suppose its desk duty until Peter returns, then."

"Oh no. You like field work, right?" Hughes' smile was almost menacing. "Then I'm going to give you field work. The Major Thefts Unit always needs help chasing after their thieves, and Peter has constantly praised your running skills."

Neal's expression was horrified. "Sir, you can't be—"

"You report there tomorrow. Let Agent Silvers know that I have sent you to help them in whatever capacity they require."

Mozzie was right. FBI Agents _were_ the embodiment of pure evil.

* * *

_Sunday afternoon, NY Major Thefts Unit_

A break during the afternoon lessons found Neal Caffrey in the bathroom splashing his face. This impersonating-an-agent-thing was turning out to be a lot more stressful than he had expected.

His hands gripped the sink, and he looked down. Maybe he should just… a sudden voice startled him out of his reverie.

"_Here _you are."

Neal spun around, his knees bent and poised to run.

The dark agent merely quirked an eyebrow. "Force of habit?"

Neal straightened up as soon as he recognized his guest. "Agent Bancroft." His tone turned reproachful. "You of all people should know better than to alarm a conman while he's in the middle of an operation. Especially given all the surprises of today."

Bancroft snorted unsympathetically.

"Anything you have to complain about is your damn own fault, Caffrey. What in God's name possessed you to impersonate an agent? If you had wanted to teach security, you could have just _told_ Silvers, and every agent on the East Coast would be lining up to get lessons from the Renaissance Conman."

"Don't blame me," Neal sniffed, hands in the air in the gesture of innocence. "I was only following orders. I certainly didn't expect to come here and get accosted by a bunch of agents telling me I was Bateman."

"—There's this delightful, little, two-letter word in the English language called no. Ever heard of it?—"

"—and I thought it might be a strange FBI custom. I've never pretended to understand your ways, so I assumed—"

"If that's really the best you can come up with, then your talent at conning has clearly been exaggerated." Bancroft sounded more amused than distressed which boded well for Neal. "And as surprising as this is, I'm not here to reprimand you for committing a federal crime."

"You're not?" Neal's blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Bancroft's expression was amused. "No. I expect that this event will simply be highly entertaining. And, as skilled as Lucas is, the agents will learn a lot more from you than him. Speaking of which," he frowned, "you don't know what happened to Lucas?"

Neal shrugged. "Never met the guy."

"So he's not off somewhere pretending to be you?"

_"Absolutely_ not." The forger sounded insulted.

"Hm," Bancroft mused. "I hope nothing's wrong. Maybe I should check in with the Chicago office to make sure…" He snapped out of the reverie. "Oh, yes, before I forget. Silvers mentioned something about a _practical_ session tomorrow."

Neal broke out into a gleeful grin, which, more than anything else, evoked some uneasy in the older agent. "Nothing can quite prepare you for stopping a home robbery than _actually_ stopping a home robbery. So I'm going to break into a couple of apartments, and your team can try their hand at catching me. It'll be completely safe—"

"Stop," Bancroft held up a hand. "I have been told by Agent Hughes of your immense capacity to cause unimaginable chaos that leads to broken limbs and injuries among even the most competent of agents. We are not going to try that, here."

"Agent Hughes embellishes," Neal dismissed. "We won't even be play acting _violent_ break-ins."

"All the same, I'd rather not have to return you to Burke with a bullet in your leg because an overexcited resident or police officer shot you when you _mock_-broke into an apartment." Bancroft almost sounded regretful. "On the other hand, you may feel free to break into _unoccupied_ spaces as you please."

"Are you," Neal sounded surprised. "Are you afraid of _Peter_?"

Bancroft looked stern. "Of course not. I've just noticed that he is unfortunately rather fond of you, and I would prefer to not get on his bad side." The older agent winked, and Neal broke into a grin.

"I think I can work with that, sir."

"Excellent. Was there anything else?"

"Just a question, sir. Why?"

Bancroft's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I had such a good time misleading agents with you last time that I _couldn't_ pass off the opportunity for a repeat."

Both the men were laughing as they exited the bathroom.

* * *

_Sunday night, Neal's Apartment_

Neal was not surprised, upon his return home, to find Mozzie sitting at the kitchen table.

He only hoped that the bottle of wine he had brought was enough of an offering to appease his bald mentor.

"Peace, Moz" he soothed, pulling out the bottle. "I'm sorry for getting you involved."

Mozzie's snort told him what the conman thought of his apology.

"I _am_ sorry. I didn't expect it would get this out of hand—"

"—No. You didn't. You _never_ do." Mozzie snatched the bottle from Neal's fingers.

Neal held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "What do you want me to do?"

"Stop. Make Bateman disappear, and pretend it never happened!"

"What, claim that he had a family emergency in Chicago? That's a _great_ plan."

"You _could_ tell them the truth."

Neal was incredulous. "Oh, yes, that'll go well. Hello room of people who have sworn to uphold the laws of this valiant nation. I've just spent the past two days impersonating a Federal Agent. Which, in case you were wondering, is a class three federal offense. I'm _actually_ Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire, and—"

"All right." Mozzie snapped. "It was just a suggestion. The sarcasm is completely unnecessary. Far be it from me to tell the legendary Neal Caffrey what he should do."

"No, the only way I see this ending well is to continue with our plan. After tomorrow, it'll all be over." Mozzie's expression showed a clear lack of confidence in Neal's words, but the dark haired criminal informant continued assuredly. "After all, what could _possibly_ go wrong?"

* * *

_Over an hour earlier, Burke Townhouse_

Elizabeth wandered into the family room to see Peter hastily drop her cellphone onto the couch. She raised an eyebrow at his guilty expression.

He defended himself immediately, "It's not like Neal picked up his phone, _anyway._ I suppose," he added, glowering, "he's under oath not to."

Elizabeth nodded, not even trying to keep the amusement off her face. "I made him promise," she said sweetly.

"I married a very devious woman," he mumbled to himself, wrapping an arm around her as she curled into his side on the couch. "It's almost criminal."

"So says the man who _stole_ my phone to make a secret phone call."

He flushed, a little.

"You miss the office," she stated matter-of-factly.

He looked guilty. "I like being here with you more," he offered earnestly.

"You think it's boring."

"Of course not!" He protested.

She shook her head. "It's ok that you are devoted to your work, hon. I knew that when I married you, and it's part of the reason I love you. So," she said, turning to him from her seat, "tomorrow, you're going back to the office."

"Hughes won't let me."

Elizabeth's expression was one of entertainment. "Hon, do you really think either Reece or I expected you to last the week? _I_ know the man I married."

"And I married the most perfect woman in the world," he said, gazing at her with pure adoration.

She snuggled deeper into his side. "But you _are_ bored—"

"Oh. Words can't even describe." he assured immediately, the admittance clearly giving him relief, and the promise of the next day evoking contentment.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Please review. I appreciate all comments, criticisms, and concerns intended to improve my writing.**

**Stay tuned for the final chapter!**

**Cheers,**

**The Third Marauder**


	3. Monday

**Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA and Jeff Eastin. **

**A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far. I hope you enjoy the final installment. **

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…

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* * *

**Chapter Three: Monday**

_Monday late morning, NY White Collar Office_

"Peter," Hughes greeted as Peter stepped up the stairs to the main offices. "I see you couldn't stay away for long."

Peter returned Hughes' smile. "It's good to be back, sir. By the way, where is Neal? I stopped by his place on the way here, but June told me he had already left. Apparently you've been working him long hours the past two days."

"I haven't," Hughes said, eyes glinting. "But it's nice to know Silvers is keeping him busy and out of trouble."

"Silvers?" Realization dawned. "Not _Frank_ Silvers from Major Thefts?"

Hughes nodded. "Caffrey's been with them since Saturday. By the by, Peter, I haven't the faintest idea how you manage to work with him. I'm not saying he's not a valuable asset, but he's reckless, impulsive, absolutely uncontrollable, and I barely lasted three days before I wanted to send him back to Reikers."

Peter grinned, but his eyes were tight. "He is that." A pause. "You haven't, uh, by any chance checked up on Neal since he went over there, have you?"

"Caffrey is perfectly capable of handling himself," Hughes reminded disapprovingly.

"I know," Peter assured. "But I _don't_ know if Major Thefts will be able to handle Neal."

Hughes chuckled at the thought. "I haven't heard anything from them, so they must be managing fine."

Instead of calming Peter, however, Hughes' words worried him. He had worked with Neal long enough to know that silence from the con was rarely ever a _good_ omen.

"You have that look again. Look, if you're worried, why don't you ask Agent Bancroft?" Hughes' boss had just entered the pit. "He's been spending a lot of time with Major Thefts lately."

As if recognizing that he was being summoned, Bancroft made his way into Hughes' office. "Burke," he acknowledged, and he sounded displeased. "I thought you weren't going to be back till tomorrow?"

"The wife sent me back early. Something about my obvious boredom defeating the purpose of the vacation," Peter deadpanned. "Agent Hughes was saying that you've been in Major Thefts recently?"

"I was just on my way there, now," Bancroft confirmed.

"Excellent. I was wondering if you had connected with Neal while you were there?"

"I haven't seen Caffrey," Bancroft said immediately, and, if it were anyone but the staid agent, Peter would swear the too quick answer was suspicious. "Why would _I_ have seen Caffrey?"

Peter was silent. Finally, he asked slowly, "You mean to say that he hasn't spent the last two days with the Major Crimes Unit?"

"Silvers said nothing to me when I met with him yesterday." Peter thought Bancroft looked extremely uneasy.

"Don't be hasty, Peter," Hughes warned quickly, knowing how his agent processed information.

"Yes," Bancroft hastened to agree. "Perhaps Caffrey caught a cold and has been home sick."

"Ridiculous. Neal _never_ calls in sick," Peter scoffed. "Besides, June lectured me this morning for working him too hard. She said that the last two nights he was out till midnight. No." Peter disagreed. "No. It's very obvious what has happened."

"It… is?" Bancroft asked, and had Peter been in any mind to pay attention, the agent's nervousness would have been telling.

"Neal's gotten himself into some kind of trouble again. Or Mozzie…" Peter mused aloud before quickly disabusing himself of that idea. "It's not Mozzie. Neal cares about him too much to not avail himself of Bureau resources. It's definitely about Neal. Maybe an old partner is threatening him into pulling a con? Have we received any intel on Alex Hunter lately?"

Peter was always in his element when it came to conjecturing about what misconduct Neal was currently staging.

"I think you're overreacting." Hughes' interruption was gentle, but firm. "And I can't believe _I_ am the one defending Caffrey, but the kid's been toeing the line for some time, now, and I think this might all be a misunderstanding."

Beside him, Bancroft was nodding insistently.

"Maybe," Peter allowed doubtfully. "Perhaps I should pay Agent Silvers a visit. Just to make sure."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Bancroft hurried to advise. "They've been a bit swamped in Major Thefts and—"

"It'll be quick," Peter dismissed, standing to leave. "Shall we go together?"

Bancroft looked like he would rather do anything else in the world and Peter took a second to wonder if he had done anything to offend the older agent. When Bancroft finally spoke, though, it was a resigned and clipped, "fine."

* * *

_At the same time_, _NY Major Thefts Unit_

"They've just set up surveillance on the fourth apartment, sir," Roger was reporting. "Bateman is grabbing coffee in a café two blocks away."

"How have we been acquitting ourselves so far?"

"Not very well, unfortunately. They haven't caught sight of him in any of the exercises. And it's not like he's trying to stay under the radar. Last time he slipped out with four chairs and an antique card table."

"A card table?" Frank repeated incredulously. "And _none_ of you noticed him exiting?"

"No sir. Makes one glad that men like him are on our side, doesn't it?"

"Yes, well," Frank harrumphed. "A _card_ table. Really..."

"He's good. I'm _tailing_ him, and I don't even know how he is getting in or out. He slips my surveillance right before he engages in the heist," Roger admitted.

"Does that mean he knows you're watching?"

"I don't think so. I think it's just a safe-practice habit. He gives no indication of being wary of my presence, at any rate."

"Good," Frank grunted, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose he isn't doing anything suspicious?"

"No, sir," Roger almost sounded apologetic. "He's been a model agent all morning."

"Right." A pause. "Right." Another break. "Well, it doesn't seem like there's any purpose in continuing to investigate him. My impression must be incorrect. Why don't you join the probies for the remainder of the exercises? Perhaps with your help we can actually _catch_ this slippery bastard."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Thanks, Roger."

Frank clicked the phone shut. He had been so sure… a tone from the computer gave notice of a new email in his inbox. A glance showed an unread message from . . . He double took. _Bateman_? _What_?

His heart pounding, he moved his mouse to click on it.

* * *

_An hour before, an apartment in Chelsea_

"This is a bit Hawkeye of you," a voice broke out as Neal dropped down from a panel in the ceiling. "Personally, I would have gone with a Silver Mouse. It's a much subtler entrance."

Neal took a moment to brush out some wrinkles from his suit. Not that there were many, Mozzie noticed, feeling a twinge of envy at his friend's ability to undergo anything short of a tornado and still come out looking like a model. And Mozzie still wasn't sure about the tornado.

"I would, too. But I'm trying to give our group of agents a fighting chance."

Mozzie's grunt was a clear disapproval.

Neal glanced at the older con. "I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think you would want to get this close to the action."

"Yes, well," he released a disdainful snort, "they've been doing such an abysmal job that I figure I'll be ok."

"They _have_ been rather pathetic, haven't they?" Neal said gleefully, taking a couple minutes to look around the apartment. "You did a good job, Moz. This one's nice."

The grifter shrugged, "Friend of a friend owed me a favor."

"Still. Upscale, elegant, _and_ classy," Neal grinned appreciatively. "So. What should I take? Maybe if I grab something suitably large, they'll notice my exit." He eyed some of the furniture speculatively.

Mozzie stared at his friend, as if just realizing something. "You're _enjoying_ this!"

"Of course I'm enjoying this," Neal said evenly, testing the weight of the antique card table in the corner. "What do you think?"

"You miss being chased by the Bureau. You _miss_ pulling idiotically reckless stunts intended to grab their attention. _I_ bet," Mozzie accused, "you wish it was Burke outside."

"You have to admit it would be more exhilarating if it _were_ Peter. He was always good at providing a challenge." Neal's tone was wistful, as he hoisted up his take. "Do you think it would be too much if I also took the chairs?"

Mozzie watched him gather his items. "Don't you think this is getting out of hand?" Neal steadfastly ignored him. "There is no _way_ you're coming out of today unharmed. Those suits are going to want your blood."

Finally, Neal faced him, his expression one of a man who had pushed past the edge of reasonable patience. "Why would anyone in Major Thefts want to hurt _me_, Moz?" No one could pull off utter innocence as well as Neal. "It'll be fine." He could tell Mozzie didn't believe him. "A bottle of wine says that I come out of this unharmed."

The older conman really wanted to say that if _he_ was this tempted to hurt his friend, the agents' feelings could only be worse. Instead, he opened his mouth and pointed out composedly, "You _do_ realize that those won't fit through the ventilation shafts."

As usual, Neal waved off the concerns.

* * *

_Little over an hour later, NY Major Thefts Unit_

It took two reads for Frank to fully comprehend the email.

The moment he did, though, he was scrambling for his phone, his mind a hazy jumble of things he did not care to identify. He was dialing Roger's number, when an unexpected voice at his doorway almost caused him to drop his phone. As it was, the only reason he didn't was the combination of incredibly fast reflexes and luck.

"Burke," he greeted reluctantly, looking up. "Listen, I'm extremely busy right now, and—"

"I'll be quick," Burke interrupted. He looked as displeased as Frank was to be there; it was no secret that the two agents had never particularly gotten along. "We sent a member of our team here to work for a few days. I was wondering if I could see him."

Frank wasn't really paying attention. "I have no idea what you're talking about Burke. Don't blame us because you're not competent enough to keep track of your own people."

He was dialing again, when a second voice broke in. "Is everything all right, Silvers?" This time Frank did drop his phone. His head jerked up to see a concerned Agent Bancroft stepping out from behind the White Collar head agent. "You seem distracted."

There was a clear hierarchy in the FBI. Part of that entailed no questioning of the boss. Or accusing him. Or being even _slightly_ disrespectful. A _proper_ agent would keep his head down and follow whatever plan his supervisor had set him on even if that plan involved bringing in some stranger to teach his agents and probies important field lessons.

Frank had always considered himself a model agent.

"You knew!" Apparently, today was an exception. "You _knew_ he wasn't Bateman. That's why you were so awkward with him the other day, isn't it? And it certainly explains his oddities. They're strange in Chicago, I'll admit, but they can't be _that_ strange—"

"Stop," Bancroft interjected stiffly. "I understand that you take your responsibility over your team seriously, but that is no reason to be automatically suspicious of anyone who comes into contact with them. Just because he comes from a different FBI tradition—"

"_I know he's not Bateman!" _Frank exploded. Bancroft looked taken aback at the display of anger. "I just got an email from Lucas Bateman. He's recuperating from a dislocated shoulder and apologized for not making it to New York."

"Ok." Bancroft acquiesced a little too easily. "_Maybe_ he's not Agent Bateman from Chicago. Regardless, he had my permission as Division Chief to instruct your team in whatever manner made him most comfortable."

"Sir, I understand your desire to be accommodating, but that is no excuse for condoning deceit. I know liars, sir. I can see it in their faces. I promise you that this _agent_ is concealing something, and until we can get to the bottom of it, I want him far away from my team."

"Your fears are unfounded, Silvers. He has been nothing but honest with me from the beginning, and his security expertise is—"

"There's a lie right there! He _calls_ himself a Security Expert."

"You can't deny _that_!" Bancroft protested. "Just yesterday you were telling me that his skills were remarkable."

"Maybe you two ought to take a moment—" Peter began, trying to diffuse the situation. Bancroft looked alarmed, as if he had forgotten that the other agent was still there.

"Yes, perhaps we ought to discuss this privately," he hinted heavily, but Frank was too incensed to stop.

"I'll admit that he is good. But it's obvious that he doesn't _enjoy_ security. It's _not_ his passion. But I watched him identify a forged Monet in under a minute. I've never seen anything like it. The DC Art Crimes Unit could hardly do it better…"

Bancroft's immediately schooled his expression.

Burke, on the other hand, looked alarmingly pleased.

"One thing, Silvers. Was he wearing designer suits?" Burke's tone was controlled.

Frank nodded. "Reminded me of Sinatra, to be honest, with those blue eyes."

"I think we ought to drop by your visiting agent, Silvers. I have an idea who he might be."

Privately, Bancroft was certain that it was lucky that the only person who would _not_ be frightened by the glint in Burke's eye was the subject of their conversation.

* * *

_Twenty minutes later, outside an apartment building in the Upper East Side_

"Agent Bateman," Peter began, his eyes agleam, and all the agents suddenly understood why this man boasted a 96% closure rate, "Or the imposter who _says _he is Agent Bateman…" A bunch of agents made to leave the van, and Peter raised a quick hand to stop them. "This needs to be done carefully. He is talented and experienced. You will not be able to catch him if he runs. Most importantly, we must be careful. If he gets hurt, there will be _severe_ consequences."

Peter was mostly silent as Silvers instructed his men on how best to approach the situation, only adding tidbits of helpful information. Finally, the Major Thefts agents departed, leaving Peter and Bancroft to monitor the progress from the van.

"Consequences?" Bancroft queried.

"Neal still has some friends in the underworld who would have no scruples against doing terrible things to me to revenge him." Peter admitted. "And I don't even want to _think_ about what my wife would do."

Bancroft chuckled. "You know, it's highly unlikely they'll be able to apprehend him."

He sounded almost smug, and Peter looked at his boss's boss askance. "Of course I know that. I spent three years _living_ that. And whose side are you on?"

"Caffrey's, of course. The man's good at what he does, and I don't bet on the losing horse."

Peter was silent for a moment.

"You won't tell him?"

Bancroft grinned mischievously. "Where would the fun in _that_ be?"

Silence descended. Until Peter finally gave voice to the question that had been bubbling this entire time.

"Why'd you let him do it?"

Bancroft looked at him warily. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell Reece." Peter nodded fervently, and Bancroft shrugged. "I got bored."

"_Bored_?"

"I was a field agent. Now I spend my entire time stuck behind a desk doing routine paper work. Is it really that surprising that I would let Caffrey break the monotony?"

Peter considered that. Still. "So you decided to not only aid one of the world's _best_ conmen in breaking a federal law, but also allow him to _train _the next generation of our law enforcement because you were _bored_?"

"There's no need to put it that way." Bancroft sounded disgruntled. "Anyway, what are you going to do when you find him?"

Peter smiled, his visage showing deep amusement. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something… _suitable_."

* * *

_Five minutes after, a Penthouse on the Upper East Side_

"If you're going to spend your entire time sulking, Moz, you should just go," Neal called out, canvassing the apartment for his next take. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. But Mozzie had been quietly following him since the last house, and Neal knew he was around somewhere, silently watching. _"Ok,_ I apologize for—"

He fell silent, his ears perking up. In a flash, he was climbing out the window, perching precariously atop the ledge, out of sight from the inside of the house. It was just in time, too, because a minute later, footsteps sounded in the room he was just in.

"I don't think he's come in, yet."

"Or if he has, he's already left. This place isn't that big, and there's no sight of him."

Neal recognized two of the probies from Major Thefts. Well, this was a promising development. They hadn't caught him, but they had stormed mid-crime, which at least indicated that they were improving.

"It's fine. We'll find him if we follow Burke's instructions."

Burke? _Peter_?

What could Peter's instructions be? They both knew that the only time Peter had ever truly caught him was when Neal had stopped running. Maybe it could… actually, Neal had no idea what Peter's plan could be. Aside from using Kate against him, the agent's record when it came to catching Neal was abysmal.

Anyway, _why_ was Peter involved in the first place? He was supposed to be off until tomorrow… unless he had somehow found out what Neal was doing, which, knowing Peter's uncanny fixation on Neal's misdoings, was not unlikely. Belatedly, he wondered what Peter would do if Neal were brought to him as an imposter.

And then he froze.

Of course.

_Of course_.

Peter was playing on Neal's curiosity. Neal's inability to _not_ try and tempt consequences. He smiled. Well, if that's what Peter wanted, how could he refuse?

Noisily, he swung back into the room. The probies reacted faster than most, but had he been trying, Neal could have escaped the room using two different exits. Instead, he sprinted toward a third. It was not good for a getaway, but they didn't know that.

It _meant_ something to catch Neal Caffrey. It was a feat. A challenge. And Neal was going to do everything in his power to keep that reputation.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still leading them along for a merry ride around the building. He wanted to laugh. He wasn't running more than half speed, but they were still managing to be _remarkably_ incapable.

Finally, tired of their ineptitude, he allowed himself to be backed up into a corner. He took a hasty step away from one probies outstretched hands, only to feel the cold barrel of a gun at his back.

"Don't move." It was Silvers. "If you cooperate, we will be more gentle."

Neal's arms were up in a graceful movement. "I'm unarmed."

"We'll see," Silvers said shortly. He motioned to one of his people to pat Neal down. When they were finally sure it was as he said, they cuffed him. Neal winced as they tightened the metal bands slightly more than necessary. Still, he could have them off in less than a minute if he needed to – his musings were brought short by a movement in the ventilation grate.

He almost snorted. So much for being _too_ Hawkeye.

"You have me," he began, as reasonably as he could. "I'll come quietly. You might want to take the gun from my back—"

"Afraid of guns?"

"I don't like guns."

Silvers sneered. "I think this is good insurance that you'll behave, then."

"Yes, but someone might take from it that you mean to threaten me—"

"—I _am_ threatening you—"

"Yes," Neal accepted patiently, swallowing convulsive laughter, "but one might unfortunately assume that you _actually_ plan to injure me with that—"

"—I'm not against that idea—"

It took all of Neal's not insignificant amount of self control to keep his voice level. "But if, say, someone listening had a bet—"

"Someone? Are you not alone?"

"Do you _see_ anyone else here?"

Silvers looked suspicious. "I don't think you're part of a syndicate or the mob. But maybe—"

"Mobster?" Neal was indignant. "_Mobster_?!"

"Well, who else—"

"You're not going to believe me even if I _do_ tell you. So, why don't you just take me to Peter, and we can all this sorted," Neal sighed. He could feel the onset of a headache. He also had to start preparing himself for the self-righteous superiority Mozzie was sure to affect over the next couple days.

* * *

_Same time, FBI Major Thefts van_

It was almost a parade standing outside the van, when Bancroft and Peter finally exited. Neal was at the front, his expression incredibly smug for having his hands cuffed rather painfully behind him, two men holding him in a tight grip, _and_ a gun at his back. Silvers stood behind him as the owner of said gun, with the rest of the Major Crime Unit in various positions surrounding the conman to prevent his escape.

For his part, Peter looked entertained.

Bancroft, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow at the histrionic nature of the scene.

"It was the only way to prevent his escape," Silvers muttered defensively. "He almost did, anyway!"

"He's always been a good runner," Peter said, biting back a laugh. He then spoke directly to Neal. "I hope you've been enjoying your time, here. I know it's different from the way you're used to, uh, _working_ security, but I trust you've managed to adapt."

Silvers was startled. "He really _is_ a security expert?"

"Of course! There are few people in the world more capable of assessing security systems than this man. My team has spent years going after his talents. Your agents will not have suffered under his tutelage, I guarantee it." A beat. "And I'm _sure_ there's a good explanation for why he impersonated Bateman."

"_They_ introduced me as Bateman. I was just following their lead," Neal muttered defiantly.

This time Peter couldn't stop the chuckle. "You'll have to excuse him. He has terrible impulse control. One of his worst traits, to tell the truth."

Neal looked absolutely furious.

Peter smiled, trying not to wonder whether he should continue bating his CI. "But, it's good to see you, again, my friend." He stretched out a hand.

Seconds later, Neal was grasping it, the cuffs that _had_ been binding him held loosely in his left hand. There was an unhappy murmur from the other agents at the impressive display of lockpicking.

"And I haven't even introduced you properly. Agent Silvers, this is George O'Neal. He consults with Interpol on museum security in Paris. He returns tomorrow morning, but I'm sure tonight he has nothing he would rather do than share a couple rounds with your team. He's always complaining that the French don't do beer right, so treat him to some good old-fashioned _American_ brew!"

There was wrath in Neal's eyes, as he smiled falsely at Peter's words.

* * *

_A little while later_, _NY White Collar Office_

They were sitting in Peter's office. The white collar agent was picking at a threat in his suit. His consultant was sporting a rather impressive glare. Bancroft was watching the two looking supremely entertained.

"I'm going to hurt you." Neal finally said.

"No doubt," Peter said lightly.

"No. I _am_ going to hurt you."

"I don't expect any less," Peter was nonchalant.

Neal, apparently, had had enough.

"Beer? _Beer_?!"

"Is that a problem?" Peter asked innocently.

"I _know_ you like the stuff. I've never pretended to understand why, but I accept it. But to force _me_ to drink it?"

"Do you not like it?" Peter feigned surprise. "Oh, Neal, you should have said something."

Neal looked murderous, and Peter finally dropped the pretense.

"Well, I had to say _something_."

"Yes. Now, if you wouldn't mind stepping out with me, _I_ have something _I'd_ like to tell _you_."

"I think I'll stay. El prefers me to remain intact."

Neal growled. Peter laughed, and then decided to push his luck further.

"Forgive me, but aren't you supposed to meet the Major Thefts agents in a few minutes. Didn't you have bar plans for the evening?"

Neal stood up jerkily. "I _will_ hurt you." There was promise in that voice.

Peter grinned condescendingly. "Of course you will. Now, off you go."

He and Bancroft shared a hearty laugh as Neal stalked out of the office.

"You didn't reveal him," pointed out.

Peter smirked. "You're not the only one who gets bored, sir."

"But you know that means that Caffrey still won," Bancroft remarked offhandedly when the amusement fled.

"Won? _No._ He didn't. He got _caught_!"

"He _let_ them catch him." Bancroft corrected. "_And_ he still gets to work with them under a false pretense."

Peter stared. "That's ridiculous."

Bancroft shrugged. "If you say so." He stood up. "It's been fun. Let's—"

"—_not_ do this again," Peter finished hastily.

Bancroft looked disappointed but nodded and left.

As Peter watched him go, he insisted to himself, "_Absolutely_ ridiculous."

_Fin_

* * *

**A/N: And it's done. I hope you found the story fun, slightly ridiculous, but somewhat realistic. I did my best to stay true to the characters, so I hope that came through. **

**As always, comments, concerns, and criticisms are welcomed and appreciated. Please Review!**

**Cheers,**

**The Third Marauder**


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